


tell me that it's yours

by AugustaByron



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst and Laughs, Drug Use, M/M, Mood Whiplash, The last summer of your childhood, trying not to think about how mercilessly cruel fate is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 11:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15363717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustaByron/pseuds/AugustaByron
Summary: There’s something Jack wants to say, something true, something that’s trembling on the edge of his lips--I love you, though.He doesn’t say it.Jack in the thirty-four days.





	tell me that it's yours

**Author's Note:**

> And now for something completely different! 
> 
> Warnings: Drug use/abuse, depictions of anxiety
> 
> Title from What I Need by Haley Kiyoko. 
> 
> Check, Please belongs to Ngozi Ukazu

_1_.

They don’t get out of bed until two in the afternoon.

“We have learned,” Kent says ominously, from the darkness. Even the faint light seeping in from under the blinds hurts. “Don’t let Ralphy make the victory punch.”

 

 _2_.

“You know where the guest room is, Kenny,” Alicia says. “And I swear if I find another towel on the bathroom floor--”

“Hey, blame your son for that one,” Parse laughs.

Jack punches him in the shoulder. “He’s lying, that was all his fault--”

“You’ll both be on laundry duty the rest of the summer,” Alicia says. “Gotta get my mom power on while I still can, before you can pay someone to clean up after you.”

The rest of the summer.

“You better not be a dingus about the towels,” Kent says. Jack snaps back to the here and now.

“Big talk coming from the guy who left his towel on the floor.”

“This is why I only had the one boy,” Alicia tells the ceiling.

  
_3_.

Parse winces in sympathy when Jack hisses at the touch of his hand. “Sorry, man. Aloe’ll help in a second, though.”

It already is, the green gel cooling Jack’s sunburned shoulders. At least enough that he doesn’t want to peel his skin off anymore.

“How come you didn’t burn?” Jack asks. He’s tired. He always gets tired if he gets sunburned. It reminds him of being little, falling asleep in the car on the way back from the beach.

“Uh, ‘cause I used sunscreen? You gotta get it together, bro, they’ve got a lot of sun in Vegas.”

Jack’s stomach rolls over. “It’s pretty overcast in Seattle, though.” And the Schooners have the second pick.

Kent’s hands still on Jack’s shoulders, which is how he realizes that Parse was still rubbing in the aloe. Jack’s skin tingles where Parse has touched him.

“Yeah. Bright side for one of us, I guess.”

 

 _4_.

“--put my hands up, they’re playing my song,” Parse sing-screams from the driver’s seat, “the butterflies fly away--”

“Nodding my head like yeah,” Jack says in his best monotone, just to make Parse beam at him in delight. “The road, watch the road!”

“Got my hands up, they’re playing my song--”

  
_5_.

Jack’s dad is already dressed and reading the paper at the table by the time Jack drags Kent out of bed. Well, okay. By the time that Jack’s climbing back _out_ of Parse’s bed.

“Morning, boys,” Bob says. He raises his coffee cup at them in salute. “What’s the plan for today?”

They haven’t even been in the kitchen for thirty seconds, and they’re already supposed to have a plan?

“Going on a run in a minute, sir,” Kent says, which is news to Jack.

Bob nods. “Nice little write-up in the sports section about you two,” he says, pushing over part of the newspaper. “Want to give it a read?”

Jack stares at the newspaper like it’s going to come alive and bite him. About the two of them? About Jack and Kent? Or-- is it about Kent, plus Jack?

“Oh, sweet,” Kent says, grabbing it up. “Dibs.”

  
_6_.

“Eat it, Zimmermann!” Parse crows as Yoshi shoots across the finish line just ahead of Luigi. Jack grits his teeth.

“Best of nine.”

  
_7_.

Parse won’t shut up about the beetle display, and Jack is frankly regretting taking him to the Insectarium. Just when he’s contemplating lifting Parse up and dumping him in a nearby bush, Parse goes totally still.

“Oh, man,” he says, and then calls, “Hey, can I pet your dog?”

Jack track’s Parse’s eyeline and ends up looking at--that’s not a bear, it’s a dog. It just looks like a bear. It’s big and black and very fluffy. It’s attached to a blond girl about their age. She’s pretty.

“Hmmm. He doesn’t like Americans,” the girl says. She’s smiling, and Parse is smiling back, so it’s a joke. Jack gets that. He doesn’t need to bristle on Parse’s behalf.

“I’m practically a Canadian,” Kent says. Which is pretty fucking rich, considering how he feels about that Hannah Montana song. “I live in Rimouski.”

Lived. Lived in Rimouski. Now Kent lives with Jack, at least until--

“What a good boy,” Kent croons. He’s on his knees in front of the dog, hands buried in the fluff. “You look like Sirius Black. Don’t you? Geez, aren’t you hot? You’ve got all that hair. Sorry, fur. It’s great, you look great. But aren’t you hot?”

“Is he always like this, or am I just that special?” the girl asks Jack, in French, which is pretty rude considering she thinks Kent can’t speak it. Jack shrugs and waits for it.

“ _He’s_ that special,” Parse says, and grins up at her. She blushes, and Jack has to watch Kent raise his eyebrows at her, and tilt his head a little, and smirk. The way he always does when there’s a pretty girl around. It’s those same three moves, like clockwork, and they always fall for it.

Parse never did those three moves to Jack. He’s not sure what that means, exactly.

But now Parse just hauls himself back up onto his feet and gives the dog another thorough scratch around the ears. “Thanks, dude. C’mon, Zimms, your mom said we had to be back by lunch or she wasn’t gonna feed us.”

Jack follows after Kent. He doesn’t look back at the girl and her dog.

“Man, that dog looked just like Padfoot, huh? The Grim? Ooh, spooky. Maybe we’re about to die.”

“Is that a pokeyman,” Jack asks, bewildered. Parse laughs and slings an arm around Jack’s neck. He’s having to reach more and more to do that.

“Jesus, Zimms. What are you gonna do without me? I gotta make you a list of how to survive in the real world or something.”

“Is it a yugi-oh?”

Parse just laughs.

 

 _8_.

Jack clenches his hands around the sink until his knuckles are white, white like the enamel, this whole bathroom is so white. It’s clean, almost comforting, except that maybe someone will be able to tell that he was in here freaking out because he smudged the sink or something, and--  
  
Breathe. Breathe. It’s okay. He fumbles in the medicine cabinet for his prescription and pops the bottle open. He shakes out two pills and bends to wash them down with water from the faucet, puts his face directly in the stream.

“I’m borrowing socks,” Kent yells from Jack’s bedroom. “All of mine are dirty.”

Breathe.

  
_9_.

“Zimms. Hey, Zimms."

“It’s five in the fucking morning, Parson. You better be dying.”

“Wanna go do donuts in the Canadian Tire parking lot? Zimms. Zimms. Don’t lay back down, you asshole--”

“Yeah, fine, get the keys.”

  
_10_.

“--thirty. Ten more,” Jack says. Kent swears at him.

“You said thirty,” Parse pants, lifting the barbell slowly.

“I lied. Thirty one. Only nine more.”

“I better be getting something for this later,” Kent complains.

“You’re getting muscles. Thirty two.”

  
_11_.

One extra pill isn’t going to hurt anything.

  
_12_.

“You’re lucky, you know,” Parse says. They’re piled into Jack’s bed, even a double a little small for the both of them since Jack grew another inch. There’s no reason to be quiet, since Bob and Alicia are way at the other end of the hall. But Parse is whispering anyway.

Jack closes his eyes. When he opens them again, Parse’s eyes are silver in the dark.

“I’d do--shit. I don’t know what. To have my dad love me that much.”

“I know.” Jack does know. He’s lucky. There’s something he wants to say, something true, something that’s trembling on the edge of his lips-- _I love you, though_.

He doesn’t say it.

  
_13_.

“Are you watching cat videos again?”

“No. Fuck off. Come watch with me.”

  
_14_.

“Okay, the internet says to keep icing it and then--no, that can’t be right,” Jack says, staring.

“Your parents are gonna be home in an hour, I don’t care if we have to sacrifice a goat,” Kent hisses, pressing the ice cube harder against the monster hickey on his neck. “We’ve gotta get rid of this thing. You think your mom is going to buy that I suddenly decided to wear a scarf?”

That’s a good point, actually.

“Okay, so we’re supposed to rub it with a peppermint? I think I’ve got peppermint gum. Or maybe I could just punch you over it to cover it up?”

“No fucking way, you vampire. If anyone’s getting punched it’s you. Fuck, go get the gum.”

 

 _15_.

“Kent,” Jack moans, biting his lip and trying to think of stats, pop quizzes, Coach P in a speedo, anything to keep from coming too soon. Kent is tight and hot around him, so tight--

“Jack, Jack, c’mon dude, do I have to do everything myself--”

  
_16_.

“No, fuck off, you don’t actually--”

“Shake it,” Kent sings, terribly, “shake it, shake it like a Polaroid piiiiiicccture--”

“It’s a good one, though, eh?” Jack asks. He examine the picture. Kent is caught mid-laugh, head thrown back. “You can put it on your Myspace.”

“Never fucking change, Zimms,” Kent hoots. “Myspace. Christ.”

 

 _17_.

“--gotta believe that Vegas want the Zimmermann legacy. Why would they take a chance on, excuse me, a kid who’s barely tall enough in the first place--”

“But you can’t say that Parson hasn’t had tremendous development over the last season. Arguably more than Zimmermann--”

Kent rolls his eyes and flips off the NHL channel. “God. C’mon, let’s go play frisbee.”

  
_18_.

Kent starts laughing breathlessly the second that Alicia walks back out of the basement, but Jack’s heart is still pounding.

“Shut up,” Jack says, shoving Kent’s shoulder. Kent just goes with the motion, lets Jack push him right off the couch. He curls up like a pillbug, still laughing his ass off. “Shut _up_ , it’s not funny--”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe that your mom almost walked in on me blowing you--”

They need a little privacy.

  
_19_.

Kent is not that into the idea of camping. “We’re gonna get eaten by a bear.”

“It’s not like we’ll be in the wilderness,” Jack says. “I’ve gone out to the lake a hundred times, there’s a Timmy’s ten minutes down the road.” He checks the bed of the truck one last time. Everything’s there. Did he remember the condoms? That’s kind of--maybe crucial.

“Yeah, but how often have you gone alone? Maybe we’ll get eaten by a moose, that might be cool. Top prospects tragically slain--” Kent says, grinning.

“I’m not alone,” Jack says, trying to chirp the way Parse does. But it comes out sounding-- “I’ve got you.”

Parse swallows hard. Then he shakes it off. “Yeah, man. But I don’t know about these mad camping skills, where’s your evidence?”

  
_20_.

“Holy Jesus shitballs,” Parse screeches, bobbing to the surface of the lake. Jack, safe on the dock like a sane person, collapses in laughter. “Holy fuck it’s cold!”

“I warned you,” Jack yells back. “It’s the beginning of June. And it’s not even twenty five degrees out.”

Parse flips Jack off. “Dare you to jump!”

“No fucking way, Parse.” Jack isn’t falling for that. “Maybe later when it’s actually hot out.”

“I double dog dare you!”

Well.

Parse cheers when Jack jumps. It’s one moment, suspended in the air, Parse whooping and golden, and then--

“ _Fuck_!” It’s so fucking _cold_!

  
_21._

They’ve got the whole beach to themselves, have since the last family headed out around sunset. It’s well past, now, the stars blinking into existence above them.

Parse tosses the empty Labatt carton onto the fire. It may have taken Jack over an hour to light, but he finally got it going. He’s pretty proud of that.

Kent flashes a smirk in Jack’s direction, quick and bitingly gorgeous. Jack’s gut twists in on itself. “There’s your kindling, mountain man.”

“Classy, Parser,” Jack says, instead of any of the shit that he wants to say. “Real classy.”

“I’ll show you class,” Parse says, and tackles Jack to the cold sand of the beach.

  
_22_.

“It was great,” Kent tells Alicia, in the kitchen of Jack’s house. “Except fishing sucks.”

“Kent didn’t catch anything.” Jack caught three.

  
_23_.

“What did you want to be when you grew up? When you were a kid?” Kent asks. They’re out in the pool. Kent is floating on Alicia’s favorite raft.

“When I was a kid?” Jack’s always been a hockey player. He’s always known he was going to be a hockey player. He can’t think of anything else he’s ever wanted. “Uh. An artist. What about you?”

“Vet,” Parse says immediately, no hesitation. “Or an astronaut. Something cool where you had to do a lot of math. I was good at math when I was a kid.”

“Yeah? Then how come you’re so bad at stats now?”

“Fuck off, I don’t need stats,” Parse says. “I’m Kent fucking Parson. I get you the puck, you score, we win. Boom.”

“Might have to rethink that strategy,” Jack points out. “Your team might not like it if you pass to me next season.”

Parse groans and flops off the raft. He splashes his way over to Jack and pounces, tries to dunk him. “Why you gotta be such a bummer, Zimms? Gimme a couple seasons and I’ll get them to trade me to the A--to your team.”

“What are you trying to do, be my backpack? Where’s that final growth spurt, Parson?” Jack tips backwards. Kent goes down into the pool with a squawk.

“Oh, it is on,” Parse says, narrowing his eyes.

They nearly drown, but it’s still fun.

 

 _24_.

“That’s R.” Parse smirks and passes Jack the basketball. “You wanna go first this time, bro? Give yourself a little handicap? You’re getting close to being a horse.”

“At least I can reach the basket, shrimp,” Jack says, and shoots.

  
_25_.

“I’m hesitant to put you on a stronger medication without a face to face appointment,” Dr. Gagnon says. “Are you sure you can’t come in?”

“It’s fine.”

Jack can do this.

  
_26_.

“Just get the fuck out of my face for once, Parse,” Jack snarls.

“Fucking make me, Zimms.”

It’s easier, then, just to kiss him.

  
_27_.

Parse’s face is cracked open, his smile hopeful, and Jack can’t--

“We’re gonna be fine, Zimms,” Parse says. Like he can make it true with stubborn force of will, the way he used to tell Jack that they were going to win a game, the Memorial Cup, everything. “We’re gonna make it.”

Jack’s tongue feels heavy and foreign in his mouth, too clumsy to form words. He reaches out and smooths back Kent’s cowlick.

“Kenny.”

It’s the only thing he can say. It’s all he needs to say.

They’re gonna be fine.

  
_28_.

“You said you wanted to get up early,” Jack laughs while Kent swears a blue streak, struggling with his sudden sheets. The empty bucket of ice water falls off the bed and clangs to the floor.

“Just you wait, Zimmermann, I’m coming for you.”

  
_29_.

“Now that’s what I call a wakeup call,” Kent says, smirking, wiping at his mouth with a thumb. Jack can only lay there, panting, wrecked from the _four times_ that Parse didn’t let him come, and then the final one, when Jack finally did.

“Okay, I’m sorry about the ice water.”

“Damn right you are.”

  
_30_.

“--but if the Aces are looking for speed--”

  
_31_.

Jack shakes three pills into his palm. He just wants to calm down. Have a normal day.

 

 _32_.

“Is that--” Kent asks, sharp, when he spots the frame.

Jack refuses to turn red. He’s not going to do it.

“My dad just thought it was a good picture of us.” It is. They’re happy, on the ice, clutching each other to stay up in the first minutes after winning the Memorial Cup.

“Yeah.” Kent studies the frame. It’s up on the wall next to one of Jack in Midget. “Can I--like, get a copy? I don’t have any. Like. Pictures.”

Jack’s heart beats, once, hard. “Yeah. I’ll ask my mom.”

“Cool.” Kent turns to Jack and smiles, big and open. “Cool. Thanks.”

 

 _33_. 

“Yeah, Pop, we’re gonna meet you at the hotel,” Kent says. He always hunches when he talks to his dad on the phone. Makes himself smaller. “Yeah. Breakfast. See you then.”

Jack has questions. He’s always had questions about Parse’s dad. He’s only met the guy once, after all, in two years on the same team. He was cool with Kent coming to stay with Jack’s family for a month right before the draft.

“So he’s coming,” Jack says instead of mentioning any of that.

“And he’s bringing Meredith,” Parse says, smiling big and jagged. “So. Great.”

“Hey.” Jack snags Parse by the wrist and tugs him in. “It’s fine. We’ll sit in the middle, so--” So Kent and Jack can sit next to each other.

Parse laughs. It’s an ugly sound, not like his real laugh.

“God, Zimms. Sometimes, you’re just--”

“Just what?” Jack demands. His heart is pounding. He only took two pills today. He’s allowed to have another. He’s done it before, and it’s been fine.

“You’re so fucking good, dude,” Kent says. “God, how are you so good?”

Jack doesn’t feel good. He feels like he’s wearing someone else’s skin, like some kind of monster is about to burst through his boy face and be revealed.

What if it’s all a big mistake?

“Hey, c’mere,” Kent says, reaching out for Jack. He kisses Jack once, softly. “God. I love you, man. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. I know.”

  
_34_.

“So I’ll see you in the morning,” Kent says. “Or, ha, later today I guess. It’s already midnight.”

They aren’t sleeping together tonight. They didn’t talk about it, but--it doesn’t feel right. Jack needs to be alone. Kent’s got breakfast with his dad and stepmom in the morning.

“Yeah, Kenny. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 


End file.
